


Nettle Stings

by Hijja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: What would *you* do with a Weasley trapped up against the wall? Lucius Malfoy has some ideas…





	Nettle Stings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stuckinsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinsea/gifts).



> Written in February 2008 as a very late Christmasmemefic for the lovely Stuckinsea, who supplied the intriguing 'You're not worthy'-prompt and is such a generous, encouraging friend! Hope you like, dear! Thanks to Liriaen, Thrihyne and Regan_V for the beta, and to Thea for chatting me through it for two hours :).

Lucius casts a possessive eye over the expanse of freckled, pale back before him. His Weasley is gorgeous like this, on tiptoes, hanging on to the handles of the X-shaped cross for dear life with drops of sweat pooling at the small of his back and the muscles of his arms and thighs enticingly tensed.

His buttocks, equally freckled, are tenser even, thanks to the toy pushed up between them. It spreads them wide, leaving irregular little dimples on both arse cheeks. Thighs splay, inviting and obscene in equal measure.

The toy's handle sticks out from Weasley's hole, curved and ribbed and fitting Lucius's hand perfectly. He twists it, ears perked for a near-inaudible groan, pulls, and shoves it deeper.

"Fuck!" Weasley whispers into the wall, and Lucius laughs.

"No, Ronald." Another twist, and Weasley's muscles flex from calves to arse. "You're not worthy."

It earns him a hiss like an angry snake's, and then Weasley cranes his neck around, blue eyes blazing.

"Not worthy of a fucking disgraced ex-Death Eater?"

A spreading heat curls low in Lucius's stomach.

He hasn't planned on drawing blood tonight; his Weasley handles it far too well. There are, however, other options to punish such insolence. Turning, he Summons one of the paddles from the toy rack.

He snaps it twice across each of Weasley's buttocks, aiming away from the protruding handle of the dildo. Weasley's screech at the final blow, muffled against the wood of the cross, sends the delicious warmth squirming up into Lucius's belly. Those specific paddles have undergone a week-long soak in Stinging Nettle sap, the effects of which now colour Weasley's pert buttocks in satisfying red patches.

The boy's butt muscles flex, and Lucius smirks. Aiming his wand at the toy, he mutters "Engorgio!" under his breath. He watches the way the toy is pushing Weasley's arse cheeks apart, stretching him wide, and this time his sound is almost a howl. His body jerks, and his knuckles whiten around the handles. Lucius leans forward, pressing his mouth to the sweat-soaked hair curling at Weasley's nape, and grips the toy's handle to give it another twist.

Weasley shudders delightfully, and Lucius responds to his whimper with a pleased hum. The way Weasley twitches against him make Lucius acutely aware of his own hardness, growing with every moment. Which just won't do.

He reaches up to pry Weasley's fingers off the cross. The boy gasps when he slumps down and his inner muscles shift around the toy. Lucius ignores the expression on his face, priceless though it is, and pushes him to his knees in front of him, shifting his hip forward to signal his desire. To his credit, the Weasley doesn't hesitate. He pushes the dressing gown aside that falls loosely around Lucius' hips, reaches greedily for Lucius's swollen cock and nuzzles his face against it. Lucius waves his wand again to make sure the toy will stimulate Weasley's arse on its own while making sure the boy won't be able to come without permission. He luxuriates in the wet whimpers against his own aching flesh.

Weasley reaches for him, fingers trembling along Lucius' perineum, stroking the flinching skin of his hole until Lucius groans and gives the handle of the toy in Weasley's arse a wandless nudge to reward the forward little slut.

He grabs a fistful of fiery hair, pressing the boy's mouth deeper onto his cock until Weasley's tongue is working on him with just the amount of pressure he prefers. He tightens his fist, knowing it has to sting, and surges forward until the soft, wet haven of Weasley's throat engulfs him. He can feel the boy's frantic sniffles against his pubic hair, and heat pours into his balls. He is close; the wet sounds and the sight of Weasley's nettle-stung arse, clenching as the boy shifts from knee to knee to alleviate the pressure, is bringing him even closer.

He moves his hips in time with Weasley's sucks, jabbing forward and deeper yet into that hot throat until pressure peaks and spills out of him and down into Weasley's mouth with dizzying force. He holds himself there as the boy rapidly swallows his come, enjoying the way Weasley's throat muscles are milking the last bit of pleasure from his softening prick.

Then Lucius pushes him off and uses his boot to spread the young man onto his belly, where he lies shivering, arse cheeks twitching under the onslaught of the toy while his engorged prick tries to avoid contact with the cold tile floor.

Breathing hard, Lucius drops to his knees behind him and grips the toy handle, resuming control of its movements. He pulls back just a little, then shoves forward again, angling it to stimulate Weasley's prostate. The boy whines, raising his arse for more in the most decadent fashion, and Lucius's laugh tumbles over his back.

"Do you still think you're worthy to be fucked by me?" Lucius pants, setting a steadily faster rhythm designed to drive the boy mad.

And yet Weasley cranes his head around even as he pushes his arse up higher for Lucius to fuck. Blue eyes glitter, dark with lust.

"'course!"

Lucius smiles, almost pityingly. "Engorgio!"

The second widening of the magical cock tears a scream from Weasley's mouth. He splays his thighs to accommodate the pressure, then just writhes on the ground for a moment.

The needy little slut enjoys being filled to capacity, protestations of pride notwithstanding, though Lucius has never before gone for quite this size with so little preparation. But then, Lucius thinks, lowering himself to pet Weasley's sweaty back, the toy has been charmed to stop before tearing anything, and Weasley's insolence demands a firm response. After a few moments, the young man's pained twitches stop and his breath steadies.

Another moment, and Lucius reaches for the handle again and gently rocking it. The next whine, when it comes, is anything but pained, and Weasley tilts his hips up once more, wordlessly begging Lucius to drive into him harder. The sight makes Lucius's insides tighten; he wishes he hadn't come already.

"If you want release tonight, Ronald, I suggest that you adopt an appropriate display of humility," Lucius points out mildly after a particularly insidious jab leaves the boy gasping.

"Damn you, Lucius, you bloody-" Weasley's voice cracks, and the bright sheen in his eyes tells Lucius he is close to tears.

Then, abruptly, his face softens. He snakes his neck around, twisting his body serpent-like although that has to be agonising with the dildo stuck inside him. Dry, somewhat chapped lips brush Lucius's ankle.

Lucius can feel his cock throb, aching as if it had been stung by nettle sap as well; reflexively, he pulls his gown closed to hide the evidence. If Weasley's expression had shifted just a little bit, gone from soft to knowing, Lucius would not have shown him mercy. But it never does. Almost curtly, Lucius waves his wand and dispels the ring that clamps down invisibly on the boy's balls.

In time with Weasley's gasp of relief, Lucius twists the toy at just the right angle. Ron yells as his cock pulses; he collapses and spills himself all over the polished floor.

Patiently, Lucius waits until the boy's shivers change from the aftershocks of orgasm to becoming aware of the cold floor. When Weasley's toes start to curl away from the stone, Lucius puts a hand on the small of his back and gently eases the toy out of him. Weasley winces, but makes no sound.

Lucius helps him to his feet, inwardly smirking at the way he wobbles as his insides try to readjust themselves. He Summons one of his spare house robes and wraps the boy in it after a quick cleaning charm which still makes Weasley flinch like a stung horse. There will be time for bathing him later, something Lucius enjoys partly because it embarrasses the boy to no end. He guides Weasley towards the bed, keeping his hands on him because they ease the young man's trembling.

He chucks his own robe before climbing in after, but leaves Weasley his - he needs the comfort. Spooning himself along the boy's side, Lucius flings an arm over him and pulls him close. Weasley turns to burrow against him a little until the red head is nestling into Lucius's collarbone. It should look ludicrous; though an adult now, Weasley has never quite outgrown a certain coltishness. Yet together with his softened face, all tension gone and replaced by a sleepy smile, the impression is unexpectedly… 'cute' isn't a term prominent in Lucius's vocabulary, but it suggests itself here.

"Merry Christmas, Lucius," he slurs.

Lucius smiles back, then inquires, when his Weasley is comfortably curled against him, "Why were we doing this tonight?"

Teeth-marked lips curve into a lopsided grin. "Because you enjoy it?"

Well, there's that. Perhaps he should have phrased it, 'why initiate the roughest sex in weeks on Christmas day?'

"I certainly enjoy chastising you," Lucius murmurs. He likes the way his Weasley's back curves, like a lazy cat's, but resists the urge to run fingers down his vertebrae. "I am, however, not altogether too keen on being used to punish you in place of your family. I'd rather do it of my own accord."

He needs to bring up Weasley's need to punish himself for not having a family to celebrate with now, while all the boy's defences are shot to hell, or it will never happen. He can practically see the tension flowing back into Weasley; his body stiffens.

"I'm not talking about my family!"

There is an audible tremor in Weasley's voice that tells Lucius he has by no means shaken off the physical and mental effects of sex and pain.

Deep down, his Weasley still believes that Lucius will just sneer and walk away one day, revealing that the past three years have been nothing but a cruel hoax to destroy Arthur's family. Lucius's Slytherin side knows it well, even delights in his reputation as the master schemer. And it has broken up more than the Weasleys, he muses, smirking inwardly. When lambasting Ronald to give up Lucius proved futile, his sister started on Potter, demanding he'd set Ron's mind straight or break with him. To Potter's credit, the wretched boy refused, and the girl dropped him, thus opening space for Potter and Granger to drift together as if by default.

Lucius brushes his hand down Weasley's flank, warm and firm even through the robe, studying the obstinate line of his mouth.

At first it was all calculation and boredom when he set out to seduce the blunt, angry Auror trapped in his company. He has Potter to thank for that too - well, the debt the fool boy thought he owed Narcissa. If a suitable MLE operative could be found to act as his guardian, Lucius's three-year sentence to Azkaban would have been commuted to house arrest. Potter himself was grimly prepared to take over this duty, but was overruled by superiors conscious of the predictable public outcry at an arrangement between the Wizarding World's shiny hero and a condemned Death Eater would bring about. That left Weasley.

On boring nights Lucius still wonders if he'd have cracked Potter's prickly shell as thoroughly as the Weasley's, if he'd ended up in this house together with Potter for three years. After all, Potter is, in build and colouring, much closer to Lucius's type; but then Weasley superbly suits his temper and inclinations.

Over time, however, Lucius has realised that it doesn't suit his temper at all to be deemed fundamentally untrustworthy by his lover of three years. The glare he aims at the redhead is only half mocking.

"It'll be three years in a week," Weasley finally points out, as if picking up on Lucius's thoughts when Lucius is almost convinced he has fallen asleep.

Ah, yes - at long last. Lucius expected him to breach the topic for a long time now, but among his Weasley's most characteristic traits is the habit of avoiding unpleasant topics until they go away, or can't be put off any longer. Lucius makes a noncommittal noise and waits.

He can feel Weasley squirm uncomfortably. "I wonder if… when you have the choice… you'd like to stay here with me?"

Yes, this has been so long in coming that Lucius has almost started to wonder whether he's misread the boy. Still, he's had the answer ready all the time.

"No. I will not stay with you here."

Weasley shrinks away from him, like a turtle's head disappearing into its shell. Lucius wraps an arm loosely around Weasley's throat, to keep him from scooting away further. As expected, the subtleties of inflection and emphasis escape the boy.

"This house has been my prison for the past three years," he points out, enunciating very clearly for the benefit of the dumb and insecure. "I might, however, be convinced to share another place with you."

The Manor, alas, is gone, confiscated by the Ministry and handed over to the Department of Mysteries, and the Unspeakables never give anything back. But once Lucius is free there will be hidden accounts and caches of Galleons he can draw on that the Ministry has never dreamed of. Enough to do far better than this MLE-provided hovel that only a Weasley would ever call a 'house'. He feels some of the strain bleeding out of the lanky body, but when he pulls the boy's face to his, the blue eyes are still wide and troubled.

"What about… Mrs Malfoy?"

Even with Narcissa and Draco in France and safely out of the Ministry's reach, Lucius's married state has always been a sore spot for Weasley - probably a remnant of Molly Weasley's inflexible moral standards, which can no more accommodate a son not providing offspring than could old Madam Black's. That sort of thinking is prominent among purebloods, Molly Weasley's passion for Muggle-loving Arthur notwithstanding.

"I will not divorce my wife," he says firmly.

It's just as well to state his terms clearly now to let Weasley know where he stands if the boy is fool enough to desire any future with Lucius.

"She gave me my son, Ronald. Neither Draco nor I would have survived the war if it had not been for her." Neither would have Potter, but that he doesn't need to spell out. He traces Weasley's cheekbone with his thumb, only too aware that his own sexual preferences robbed Narcissa of other children she might have wanted. "The fact that I may not desire her as I desire you does not mean I love her any less." He would put Draco and Narcissa above anyone, even Weasley, although stating it outright may be more honest than Weasley will be able to handle. "I will no more put her aside than Potter and Granger did with you when you made choices they considered… imprudent."

To his credit, Weasley blushes.

"I just…" he mumbles. Then his head comes up. "You really would? Stay? With me?"

Lucius sighs inwardly. He will deal with the boy's insecurity, and if he has to whip it out of him on a daily basis.

"I believe that's what I just said." He contemplates the freckled shoulder that peeks out from Weasley's robe. "Why did you wait this long to ask?"

"I thought that if you'd say no, I didn't want to know for as long as possible," Weasley murmurs, not quite looking at him.

"You'd have hurt?" Lucius asks, rewarded by the boy's sharp flush. It gives him away, though he says nothing.

Strangely comforted, Lucius prods, "I thought you liked to hurt?"

"Not like that."

"No," Lucius confirms softly. "Not like that."

Lucius rarely kisses - it is too public a display of affection even towards his wife. A wholly inappropriate weakness between wizards, especially with this creature, almost as sharp-edged as Lucius himself. He does kiss Weasley now, only just brushing his chapped lips, and feels the boy let out a puff of breath against his throat.

Sheer exhaustion pulls Weasley under even as Lucius watches; eyes droop, breath quietens, interrupted only by the nervous half-snuffles Weasley makes in his first hour of slumber when he doesn't start snoring outright.

Only after making absolutely certain that Weasley has indeed fallen asleep, Lucius does pull him close until his head rests on Lucius's shoulders, his bundled-up body a warm presence against Lucius' bare flesh.

He's still not certain just how he seems to have acquired this Weasley, so perfectly suited to Lucius's long-dormant desires and so obviously in need of a minder. For the moment, however, Lucius thinks, twisting a short red strand of hair around his finger and staring down at the exhausted, sleeping face, he is going to keep it.

~ finis ~


End file.
